


The Son Was an Okay Guy

by blue_fjords



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Father-Daughter Relationship, Father-Son Relationship, Future Fic, Multi, POV Outsider
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-09
Updated: 2013-03-09
Packaged: 2017-12-04 19:05:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 14,726
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/714008
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blue_fjords/pseuds/blue_fjords
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Chris Argent is a Hunter.  Gerard Argent is a monster.  To catch Gerard, Chris will use whatever tools at his disposal -- namely, Derek Hale and his pack.  Chris POV.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Son Was an Okay Guy

**Author's Note:**

  * For [sullymygoodname](https://archiveofourown.org/users/sullymygoodname/gifts).



> Yikes, I started writing this one months ago. It's for kel's birthday, which was in December, so. Sorry about that, sweet pea. At any rate, this is part of a loose series of the adults on Teen Wolf working with Derek in some capacity, in conjunction w/ the ones I did from the Sheriff's POV and Melissa's POV. Chris is a bit of a different case, considering his circumstances. The relationships I listed are more implied than anything else. In my opinion this is a Chris Argent story in which he sees a developing Derek/Stiles. Title is from Of Monsters & Men's "Dirty Paws." Many thanks to c for the beta and the time to write this!!!!
> 
> WARNING: There are allusions to Kate and Derek and statutory rape. Plus, some bloody violence. I also feel like I need to warn for a major plot point that gives away the story, so I'm putting that at the end. It is not a consent issue or character death. Please check out the note at the end if you want more info on the type of life-changing violence that's in this puppy.

"Testing, testing, one-two-three."

_Testing, testing, one-two-three._

Perfect. Now he just had to figure out a way to plant the bug in Derek's hideout without getting his scent all over everything and giving himself away. Easy peasy, his father would have said.

***

Old habits died hard, or not at all. You didn't get to reach middle age as a hunter by letting your guard down, and even if you "retired," you were never actually out of the game until you got a bullet to the head. At any rate, as long as Gerard was still crawling around, Chris Argent was not going to retire. Hence running surveillance on the Hale pack, such as it was.

They'd arrived at a bit of an impasse after the shit hit the fan at the warehouse. Chris had temporarily thrown his lot in with Scott, but Scott broke ties with the Hales. It was a brave thing to do, but stupid. And Chris had no idea if he meant himself there or Scott, but whichever it was, the warehouse had also effectively terminated the Argent connection to the inner workings of the Hale pack. Though he had zero desire to delve back into that feud, the facts remained that Chris Argent was a hunter, and Gerard was something that needed to be hunted, by whatever means possible.

He needed to regroup, he needed information and he needed to start relying on himself for it. Never mind that Gerard, Kate and Victoria weren't around anymore to give him advice in the first place. On the far side of forty, it was high time he took control of his own life and trusted his own instincts.

His instincts were screaming at him to be on high alert for Gerard, but there was no trail to follow, just a smear of black that vanished without a trace. The Hales knew something; if not Derek, then Peter. As much as Chris wanted to see them both wiped out, he wanted to protect Allison from his father even more. Asking wouldn't get what he wanted. But maybe listening would.

In the end, it really was easy, peasy to get into their hideout. Chris came across Scott, Isaac and Stiles dumpster diving for a La-Z-Boy in front of the MacKinnon's house and seized the opportunity. It was the work of seconds to slip his bug/tracker in its waterproof baggie into a hole on the side of the old chair, on the pretense of helping them wrestle the recliner into the backseat of Stiles' jeep. And voila! Surveillance achieved. They'd moved out of both the rail station and the Hale house and apparently into an old pizza parlor on the outskirts of town. Chris remembered seeing it when he'd visited Kate here once, years ago. She'd said it had the worst pizza ever made, but there was a hot delivery boy. 

That first night he tracked the bug to the pizza parlor and parked four streets over, just to be safe, before putting on his headphones.

_"…really, Scott? Axe?"_

_"It smells like lilacs, man, it's overpowering! And that yippy dog they had. Though props to Fido; this thing does not smell like dog piss."_

_"A ringing endorsement, if ever I heard one."_

The sound came in clear as a bell, Scott and Stiles and a spray can – presumably the aforementioned Axe. A door slammed in the distance.

_"What the hell is that?"_

Chris sat up straighter at Derek Hale's voice.

_"It's a La-Z-Boy for our favorite lazy boy!"_

Stiles again. Chris didn't know him that well, but he could imagine the kid flailing his arms around to indicate the recliner.

 _"Your favorite?"_ Hale. _"Make yourself useful and get some napkins for these."_

 _"You got me veggie?"_ Chris didn't know that voice; it must belong to Isaac. He couldn't recall hearing him speak before, not even when they acquired the chair.

 _"I know your favorite kind of pizza."_ Hale, voice low, though not to the others with werewolf hearing. Still delivering pizzas. Derek had to stop returning to the scenes of his crimes.

The rest of the evening was fairly boring. The four of them ate pizza together, but refrained from carrying on an actual conversation as a foursome. It was a weird dynamic. Peter Hale never turned up. Stiles cracked several jokes, a few of which were actually quite funny, and he and Scott left together. No one mentioned Gerard.

Chris sighed as the noises from the parlor changed to the deep breathing of sleep. He had to remind himself that not every stakeout yielded pertinent results.

The first time Chris had run surveillance on the Hale Pack, he'd turned in a report declaring the Hales to be a non-threat. That should've been it, but then there was Kate, six years after that fateful report. He never knew why she moved back to Beacon Hills – had she come up with the plan for the fire by herself, why choose the Hales, was it just a way to win Gerard's approval – and at this point, Chris was pretty sure he was never going to get the answers to that. He couldn't help but wonder, though, if his wife would still be alive, if his daughter would be safe and happy, if the last time he'd ever seen Derek Hale back then had stayed the last time. Just a kid, turning back flips on the trampoline in his yard, laughing his fool head off. 

***

Running surveillance on Derek Hale quickly became part of Chris's routine. Derek didn't seem to do much when his betas weren't around. Chris had tried listening in to one of Hale's workout sessions, but left quickly. Not that the noises were too pornographic but… the noises were too pornographic. Whatever else Hale did when he had the pizza parlor to himself didn't make much sound. Thankfully.

The bug immediately turned up some helpful information on the whereabouts of Peter Hale: apparently there were entire packs comprised of alphas. That hadn't been in Gerard's Bestiary. One such pack had made off with two of Derek's betas, and Peter had been sent as the emissary to negotiate their release. According to a whispered conversation between Isaac and Scott, the process could take months, dependent on how lenient the alphas wanted to be and how persuasive Peter could be. Those betas were probably goners, poor kids.

It was evident fairly quickly that Derek and Scott seldom talked to each other. They both talked to Isaac and Stiles, who in turn talked to everyone… except really each other. It was definitely weird. Both Scott and Derek seemed to be making overtures towards the ex-kanima kid, but Chris had yet to hear his voice at the parlor, or that of Allison's friend, Lydia, the kid's girlfriend.

He'd been listening in for over a week before he caught the first private conversation between Derek and Stiles, and reordered his concept of the group's relationships for the dozenth time.

 _"… and then I was grounded for another week."_ Stiles, though if he was grounded, he wasn't doing a very good job of it. Chris sighed, thankful that he'd at least missed the story behind whatever asinine stunt Stiles had pulled to get himself grounded again.

 _"And yet you're here, eating my food."_ Hale didn't sound particularly put out.

 _"Which I cooked, and it tastes delish! Mmmmm!"_ His mouth was full, making Chris grateful the bug didn't come with visuals.

 _"Better than it looks."_ In a dry tone. Stiles snorted in response, followed by the sound of both of them chewing and swallowing until Hale spoke again. _"What's your father eating if you're here? I thought you monitored his diet."_

 _"Yeah, well, he's pissed at me. He'll eat whatever the hell he wants. He's working a double anyhow."_ There was a long pause after that, filled with nothing but eating noises. Chris was starting to get hungry. He was teaching Allison how to cook, and it wasn't going that well. Victoria had never been much for cooking; it was mainly his job. He'd thought it might be a good father-daughter activity, unrelated to hunting or werewolves or boys. Unfortunately Allison inherited her mother's innate indifference for food preparation.

_"It's really good, Stiles. Thanks."_

_"My dad used to cook a lot. Before. My mom was a crap cook; she had this t-shirt that said 'First Taste-Tester to the King.' She loved his cooking."_ It had been a while since Chris had run this kind of surveillance; he'd forgotten about the little intimate details he would learn, the kind of stuff that hit a little too close to home.

_"Laura used to make pies."_

_"Mincemeat? Ouch!"_

_"It was a napkin!"_

Someone laughed; it must have been Stiles. There was a beat of silence, just forks scraping plates. Amelia Argent had been one hell of a piemaker. Chris was four the first time she'd had him stand on a stool at the kitchen counter and roll out a pie crust. His favorite was mixing the berries, sugar, flour and cinnamon and sneaking a handful of the dusted blueberries, his mother winking and popping one into her mouth, too.

 _"Blueberry."_ Chris started violently at the sound of Derek's voice echoing his own thoughts. _"Laura liked making blueberry the best."_

Chris drove home. He'd heard enough for one night.

***

Chris had to rely on all his skills to keep a hidden eye on Derek whenever he left the pizza parlor. He wouldn't put it past Derek to be hunting Gerard without any backup, the arrogant prick. He was counting on Derek to pick up a scent or trail. He stayed carefully downwind and watched.

A small girl turned to Derek in line at the grocery store and gave him a gap-toothed smile, only for her mother to pull her away. If Chris could hear her muttering about criminals and suspects, then Derek definitely could. It was just the briefest of moments, but Derek flinched. 

Derek bought strawberries out of season, and late that night Chris overheard Isaac at the hideout, squealing in delight over the berries. Derek kept his back turned on the college students who whispered and pointed at him at the Laundromat, working up the nerve to flirt with him. Derek helped a little old lady cross a street, causing Chris to roll his eyes at the cliché.

Wherever Derek went, people whispered. The constant buzz had to be annoying to his sensitive ears, and indeed, Derek didn't go out that much to experience Beacon Hills' thriving midday scene. Mostly, he went for runs. Even there, it didn't seem like he was hunting down Gerard, though Chris only dared to follow on his ATV once. It looked like Derek ran to clear his head, not catch a scent.

Nights at the pizza parlor got a bit more lively when Derek hooked up a generator and brought a TV from somewhere, Chris didn't know where. It wasn't new, and they only used it to play video games. 'Old school' ones, Stiles called them, at which Chris took to mean that whatever system Derek had found with the TV, it was not the latest model.

Stiles was over more and more frequently. Chris was under the impression it was a new thing, and possibly in reaction to the lack of Scott and Isaac, though Isaac usually returned to sleep. It sounded like Derek had dragged in a couple of mattresses sometime before the La-Z-Boy incident. Chris debated with himself about contacting Child Protection Services, but justified his inaction on account of Isaac's inhumanity.

Listening to Stiles babble was strangely rewarding. He was bright, no question about it, and quick-witted. He and Derek tended to banter back and forth, a little too cutting to be friends. It reminded Chris of his cousins Rick and Joe, always bickering when they were kids and through college, right up until Rick got on the wrong side of a dispute with a witch in Tucson. Joe blubbered like a baby at the funeral and even now was a mere shadow of the man he'd been. Maybe Stiles reminded Derek of one of his cousins or Laura. And maybe Derek reminded Stiles of – actually, Chris had no idea who that would be.

***

_"Did I leave my homework here last night?"_

Chris yawned. A homework discussion. How original.

 _"Don't see it."_ The words came out more like grunts.

_"Fuck!"_

Out of all of them, Stiles definitely had the worst language. Chris hadn't heard Scott swear once, and Derek stuck with 'damn.' Isaac didn't speak enough to swear.

_"Re-do it. You're quick."_

_"It's the principle of the thing, Derek! I already had detention today because I didn't turn it in, even though I could fucking answer anything from it. Go on, go on. Ask me. Anything chemistry-related, I'm your man."_

Chemistry. Adrian Harris's class, then. Chris should really do something about Adrian Harris. Like a bad penny, the asshole kept turning up.

_"I hated chemistry."_

_"Did you have Harris, too?"_

_"No, he was a student teacher my year. Not for my class."_

The same year, or the year before, Harris met Kate. Peter Hale missed one.

_"He's such a prick. And he totally has it out to get me."_

Papers rustled, and the bug was jostled. Chris winced at the harsh feedback as the cushions on the La-Z-Boy were carelessly shoved around while Stiles looked for his missing homework.

_"He's not worth bothering with."_

Chris snorted. The encouraging words sounded odd coming out of Derek Hale's mouth. Stiles must not have cared though, because he was agreeing.

_"I know, but he still decides my grade. And I want to get straight A's again. I don't want my dad to have to worry about that, too."_

Chris steepled his fingers together, thinking. Hunters steered clear of local law enforcement, except for those families who had a cop on the payroll to smooth things over. He'd never truly been comfortable with that. He'd taken the middle ground with his cover business and had contacts in police forces up and down the west coast. People who could be counted on to do him a favor, but no one who knew his family history. Sheriff Stilinski was… a delicate case, thanks to his son's loyalties.

_"Looks like he won't have to this time. 'Acid…' You really wrote an essay on Acid Reflex Disease?"_

_"Oh my God, thank you! I could kiss you! Don't worry; I won't. You, sir, are a werewolf amongst men!"_

Chris could almost hear Derek's eyes rolling.

_"Just don't lose it again."_

Two nights later, the conversation turned once again to Adrian Harris. Scott and Isaac were in the parlor earlier in the evening, earnestly discussing Bobby Finstock's latest strategies for lacrosse, but they cleared out before Stiles showed up.

_"Scott?"_

Stiles's voice sounded upset, a little choked.

_"He's not here, Stiles."_

Maybe it was just Chris's imagination, but Derek sounded almost bitter at that.

_"What? Come on! He said he'd meet me here!"_

_"Did you try calling?"_

_"Of course I tried calling! It went to voicemail."_ Stiles's voice dropped to a mutter. _"It always goes to voicemail nowadays."_

_"He's a busy guy."_

_"Yeah, like that doesn't piss you off, too."_

_"What are you still doing here, Stiles?"_

Chris wondered the same thing. It was as inexplicable as why he kept returning to listen to their inane conversations.

_"Fine! I'll leave! I know where I'm not welcome!"_

_"Do you really?"_

Ouch. Stilinski had to leave after that; dignity demanded it.

_"Fuck. You."_

Eloquent. Chris slunk down in his seat on the off-chance Stiles could see his SUV when he stormed out, but the sound of a crash had him jerking up and banging his knee on the steering column. Stiles and Derek talked over each other, filling the interior of his vehicle and making him realize for the first time how low they usually kept their voices. The feedback was atrocious.

_"—hold still, damn it!"_

Chris winced. Figured he'd get it straightened out just in time for Derek's growl.

_"It's fine; I'm not even going to need stitches. Come on, Derek, let go of my hand. I was leaving, you know."_

Derek grunted.

_"We're going out to your car, getting your first aid kit, and I'm cleaning this out."_

Stiles grumbled, but the door slammed shut soon after that. Chris sunk down in his seat, gracefully this time, and peered over the dashboard. Derek reached into Stiles' hoodie pocket, plucked out his keys and unlocked the jeep. Stiles shifted from foot to foot as Derek leaned into the interior of the vehicle and pulled out the kit. He knew right where it was. Of course he did. Stiles struck Chris as the type of kid who should have a first aid kit permanently strapped to his body, even without werewolves for his closest companions. Stiles followed Derek back into the parlor, through the dining area and into the kitchen. Chris could hear running water and the soft susurration of voices.

 _"You need to be more careful."_ Derek, back by the bug. Chris rolled his eyes. Stiles was the antithesis of careful.

 _"I was just… I was really pissed today, and I wanted to tell Scott…"_ Stiles' voice trailed off.

_"What?"_

_"High school shit, you don't care."_ There was a beat of silence. _"Sorry."_ Stiles still, quieter.

_"Scott will be with Isaac."_

_"Yeah."_ Another long pause. _"Harris called me a spaz. Hardly the worst thing he's called me, and I call myself one all the time, but it was weird. Everyone laughed. At me, not Harris."_

_"I weep for the future of America."_

Stiles huffed a laugh.

_"I'm serious. I've seen your high school."_

_"You've recruited from my high school."_

_"Yeah. It's going real swell for me, too."_

Chris's jaw dropped open. Derek Hale had a sense of humor. A biting one. Laughter – from Stiles – filled the car, followed soon after by the music for Super Mario Brothers.

***

Chris paid closer attention over the next couple of nights, listening instead to the tone of Stiles's voice before it hit him. That wasn't little brother squabbling on his part. No, Stiles had some sort of crush. A Stockholm Syndrome crush. It'd be easier to determine if Chris had a video feed, as well, but the chances of getting one of those in there undetected were extremely low. And then he'd have to sift through hours of Stiles awkwardly flailing around while Derek sat there, oblivious.

Derek really was pretty terrible at reading human motivation, despite his extra-sensory advantages. He needed a guidebook or something, Chris thought idly, sitting in his car outside the parlor a couple nights later. Derek was by himself, reading. The flip of the pages was the only sound, until the back door slammed shut.

At first, Chris thought his equipment had to be faulty. There was a persistent high-pitched whistling noise. He had just leaned forward to adjust his dial when the whistle was punctuated by a gasp and the distinctive slap of a hand against a wall.

His first instinct was to reach for his gun in the glove compartment, irrationally ready to burst in and defend Allison's honor, but then—

 _"Der-ek."_ The wheezy stutter was pure Stiles Stilinski. _"I can't, I can't…"_

 _"I've got you."_ Never in a million years would Chris have thought Derek could sound quite like that – rough and reassuring and gentle, but what the hell was the man thinking? Taking advantage— _"Breathe in, breathe out."_

He should bust in right now. It would mean revealing he'd been spying; there was really no good excuse for being at an abandoned pizza parlor, but as a father, how could he sit by and let this happen? Shit. He got out of the car and circled around behind the building. Derek was probably distracted, hopefully enough that he wouldn't hear or smell Chris until it was too late.

There was a missing pane in one of the back windows and Chris could see clearly into the old restaurant's kitchen where Stiles was leaning against a wall, not having sex with Derek, who was leaning against the opposite wall, staring intensely at Stiles. The kid was struggling to breathe, and as Chris watched, frozen in place, Stiles bent at the waist, hands gripping his knees, and his forehead came to rest against Derek's, who'd also hunkered over. His hand hovered uncertainly in the space between them, uncertain if the greater comfort was the empty air or a gentle touch. The dim light provided by Derek's generator leant a glow to the scene and for the first time since he'd started his surveillance, Chris felt like an intruder. 

He walked slowly back to his car and waited five minutes before listening in again.

 _"—and I couldn't tell him!"_ Stiles. Their voices were much louder now; they must have moved out of the kitchen area and into the dining area. Stiles could have been sitting on the La-Z-Boy itself, talking into the bug. _"We just yelled shit at each other and I had to get out of there, but his face! He hates me. He_ hates _me!"_

 _"Do you want me to show him the truth?"_ Derek, not offering false assurances and skipping straight to action. Typical. He, too, sounded very close to the bug.

_"Oh my God, I have, like, a three page bulleted list of pro's and con's for revealing the big W to my dad."_

_"Well, what wins out?"_ A note of impatience crept into Derek's voice, causing Chris to snort. Derek had been acting so close to sweet that Chris was beginning to suspect a pod person, but this was a bit more like it.

 _"I don't know!"_ There was a rustling of paper. Stiles carried it with him? The hell? _"Ms. Morell says writing things out helps to make issues more real and like problems you can actually solve. You know, I cross this thing off my list and I feel accomplished type of crap. I wrote it in code."_

 _"'Explains why we said Grumpy joined the circus.'"_ Chris nearly laughed as it sounded like Derek read from the list. _"'Joining the circus' is code for killing someone?"_

_"And see, I thought calling you Grumpy would be worse!"_

A snort from Derek. _"Well, that would help me, right up until the minute your Dad tried to put a bullet between my eyes. At least he'd know he was shooting a werewolf instead of a murderer."_

_"I have possible reactions mapped out, too. Like, Dad only shoots you seventy-five percent of the time, and in none of those scenarios do you actually die!"_

_"Awesome, let's tell him now!"_

_"No need for snark. That's my job!"_

Chris listened in for the next hour, letting their banter wash over him, but no decisions were made in the parlor. At about one in the morning, Stiles's light snoring sounded from the speaker, and Chris risked getting out of the car and approaching on foot to check on the situation. He crouched behind a bush out front, thankful that no one drove this way at such a late hour, and peered through his binoculars.

They were both on the La-Z-Boy, Stiles shoved in the far corner, his long legs over Derek's lap to hang down the side. Derek sat rigidly beside him, holding a book in the dim light. As Chris watched, Stiles shifted in his sleep until his head was butting up against Derek's shoulder.

After his wife died, Gerard would take Chris and his little sister on stakeouts with him. Chris had been so angry then, so raw with grief, but Kate was too young to know why. She'd slump against him in the backseat, drooling on his shoulder while Chris sat stiff as a board and tried not to cry. It was almost impossible to imagine the sweet little girl from those nights growing up to destroy the man Chris now watched in his viewfinder. What would Derek have been like, if not for Kate? Would he have relaxed against Stiles's easy affection, put his arm around the boy and told him everything would be fine? Would things have already progressed further with Stiles, or would he have even met him? Would Chris be where he was today, a widow returning to an empty home, if not for Kate?

He slammed the door shut on that train of thought. No matter what Kate had done, a part of her would always be that little girl. Her sleepy eyes and the weight of her head, the soft feel of her hair and the unconscious brush of her lips on his arm – these were all little deaths to lay at Gerard's door.

Chris drove slowly home.

***

His cousin Jed Argent drove down from the Oregon coast the next day. He'd never been one of Chris's favorite relatives, but he had a legitimate job that financed a lot of Argent Hunter business, so Chris smiled and opened the front door for him. Jed brought quart-sized containers of clam chowder from one of his restaurants and a message from their Aunt Rosalind.

"Ros has given you the go-ahead," he said, delicately wiping the milky broth away from the corners of his mouth. "Damn, that's good chowder." Chris resisted rolling his eyes; of course Jed complimented the food he'd brought himself. "And furthermore, she'll send the Michigan Argents here after you've dealt with Gerard to take care of the werewolf infestation."

Chris counted to ten in his head before speaking. It didn't do much to calm him. "So I am to track and kill my father on my own, and then our relatives I haven't seen in over twenty years are going to waltz into town and kill Derek Hale?"

"Ros suggested you form an alliance with the Hale Pack to find Gerard first." Jed picked up his spoon and eyed his now-empty bowl. Well, he could have all his fucking chowder and choke on it.

"One," Chris said,catching Jed's eye and smiling his crocodile smile. Jed dropped his spoon. "I am not working with the man who practically murdered my wife. Two, I am not letting anyone else near him until I've had my chance at him. And three, if Ros wants to lend her aid to our 'cause' she can damn well haul her ass down here and sniff out her brother herself."

Jed swallowed hard. "Ros makes the decisions," he reminded Chris.

"Does she now? So it was Ros's idea to go against the Code and murder the Hales? I don't see _Ros_ paying for it! That was _my_ wife I buried! But if you say that was Ros's masterplan…"

"Jesus, Chris, calm down!" Chris took a perverse pleasure in the way Jed's eyes bugged out. "You know Ros had nothing to do with that! That was your own, y-your own damn family—"

"We're the same family, or did you forget your name?"

"I haven't forgotten anything!"

"You sure as hell are acting like it!" Chris leaned across the kitchen counter, getting his face right up in Jed's. "Gerard was my father. He taught me how to be a Hunter, how to be a man. Do you have any idea how difficult it is to hunt him like he's a fucking monster?"

It was difficult. It was very difficult. But something he would never tell Jed was – it felt right. It was horrible and horrifying, but was the only thing that had made sense to him since the night Kate rolled back into town so many months ago. Gerard had hurt Allison, had been willing to do so much worse, had tried to twist her morals and everything that made her _her_. He had tried to make Allison over into the next Kate, and when that hadn't worked, he'd shown Allison exactly how weak she was and Chris was unable to forgive that.

"I –no, I can't imagine that. I'm truly sorry, Chris." Jed hesitated, took a breath, and addressed his soup bowl. "Do you know what you're facing from him?"

"No." And even if he did, could he trust Jed with it? Hell, after this conversation, he wouldn't be surprised if Jed opened his containers of chowder and spit in them.

"I may know… someone… who might know something. I could ask, and let you know what I find out," Jed offered, still not meeting his eye. A witch, it had to be. Consorting with witches was well over the line, but hell, two wrongs could be used to wrestle right to the ground.

"Sure," Chris said.

Jed smiled, relieved. "Um. I'm tired. I think I'll go up to bed. We can talk about this more in the morning?"

Chris nodded curtly. It was only 8:00, but Jed would need the extra time to psych himself back up. Chris was glad Allison was staying at Lydia's that night and could avoid any reports reaching Ros about how she had acted.

He set the alarm, locking Jed into the house, and took off for the Hale clubhouse.

It was quiet except for the clacking of computer keys. Perhaps Derek was storing information on a laptop. Someone sighed, the tone lighter than something Derek Hale would make. Isaac, it had to be. Chris waited outside for two hours, but apparently Friday night was not a hopping night at the Hales'. He heard nothing except for Isaac, presumably doing homework.

The next morning brought the weighty decision: eggs or waffles. He'd already dismissed cold cereal as too much of a 'fuck you' to Jed. He'd just landed on eggs as the way to go to get him fed and on the road in as short a time as possible when the man himself stumbled down the stairs, straightening his tie at 7:30 on a Saturday morning. Jed Argent: Professional Stick in the Mud.

"Early start?" Chris asked.

"Lizzie gets anxious when I spend the night away," Jed answered. He paused, half on his stool, overcome with the awkwardness of mentioning his wife to a widower. Chris just shrugged and brought over the coffee pot. More like Lizzie needed to know when Jed would get home so she could kick her latest lover out of her bed before her husband returned. Jed poured in a generous amount of creamer and sugar before slurping at his coffee.

"So," he said finally. "What message did you want to send back to Ros?"

Chris cracked a few eggs into a glass bowl and poured in a little milk. "Tell her that her message was received."

A dash of salt, more of freshly ground pepper, and Chris turned his back on his cousin to whisk it all together, ever so nonchalantly.

"Really? That's it?"

How the hell was this man the head of a major corporation? Chris took a breath, reminding himself that he needed Jed to follow through on his favor.

"Really, Jed. If you want to know what I want you to tell Ros, that would be it."

The egg mixture sizzled and popped when he poured it into the heated skillet.

"Well, then! That's good. Coffee's good, too." He took another long slurp. "Not great, but good. It's all in the bean."

"Is it?" Chris asked mildly.

"You know how they say _It's not always the most expensive that's best_? Not true of coffee. You really have to shell it out."

"That so?"

"Mmm, do you know how many pounds of coffee I buy each month – each _week_? You'd be amazed!"

"Cousin Jed," Chris said, bringing over the skillet and scraping a healthy serving of fluffy eggs onto Jed's plate. "I don't give two fucks how much you spend on coffee. What I care about is you talking to your little friend. What I care about is information on the monster formerly known as Gerard Argent. So you eat your damn eggs and drink your piss-poor excuse for coffee and haul your ass home. Call me when you remember that you were raised to be a fucking Hunter and you have some information that could actually save lives. Until then, I don't want to hear from you."

Ah, sweet diplomacy. Jed had eaten and was out the door in fifteen minutes. And good riddance. Chris left the skillet soaking in the sink and made for his study.

"Who was that leaving?" Chris looked up, smiling tiredly, and leaned against the doorframe. Allison stood in the foyer, fiddling with the strap of her backpack, her makeup smudged and hair in a messy ponytail, evidence of a sleepless sleepover. Last time she'd stayed at Lydia's, she'd been back by 6:00. Progress.

"My cousin Jed. Don't eat the clam chowder in the fridge."

Her nose wrinkled. "Unnecessary warning. What did he want?"

Chris gave her a level look, which she matched, the tightening of her jaw the only thing giving away her nervousness.

"He brought some news from the head of our family," he said. He didn't have to tell her anything else. It was a fine line to walk, how much to lean on her and how much to protect her. He'd fucked up in both instances. It was enough to leave him gun-shy.

"That's… Great-Aunt Rosalind?" She frowned, trying to remember. Hopefully she'd forgotten most of it. Ros had not left a good impression on seven year-old Allison.

"That's her."

"And?"

He raised his eyebrows.

"Come on, Dad. What did he say she said?"

He drummed his fingers on the door frame. Victoria had liked all the wooden entryways; it had been a selling point.

"Ros wants me to locate my father's body, and some other relatives may be dropping in."

"That's so specific." She shifted her feet, left to right. "Gerard's body?" she asked softly. "You're just supposed to magically clean up his mess? I should help you with that."

"Honey, no. You don't have to do that." He laughed, a bitter little sound. "She suggested I work with the Hales on that."

"Dad, no!" Allison protested, horrified. "Don't; I can help you. And… if we need someone to sniff something out, we can just ask Scott." She held her hand up, anticipating his own protest. "Just – Scott wouldn't hurt us, and he's the most like a Hunter of them."

"No, he's not." Chris could feel himself snarling and willed himself to calm down. "Look, Scott's got his heart in the right place and I do admit, he'd do anything to protect you. But he does not follow the Code. The kid used one of his own kind as a weapon without consent and, sweetheart, I've been studying werewolves a long time – that was beyond the pale."

And damn Derek and his shitty life; it was almost enough to make even Chris's furious heart feel sympathy. It would be safer for all involved to just take Derek out of the equation, get rid of the moral gray and have simple black and white.

"Scott has a pure heart!"

"When it comes to you." Why were they even arguing about this? "It doesn't matter, Allison, I'm not going to work with the werewolves." And he sure as hell wasn't going to tell her about Ros's plans for them. "I can find Gerard on my own." A blatant lie.

"Let me help," Allison pleaded.

"No, sweetheart."

"You're not used to doing this stuff alone," she argued. "I can help you. I can be stronger than Mom."

She bit her lip as soon as she said it. Her eyes filled with unshed tears as the silence between them grew. Chris didn't have a clue what his face looked like – pissed, gutted, lost. It couldn't be pleasant.

"Don't talk about your mom like she was some weak thing," he said quietly.

"She _left_ us!"

"She was a Hunter! She followed the Code."

"If it had been you, would you have left us?" Allison demanded.

He would have, of course he would have – but one look at his daughter's upturned face, and what came out was, "I couldn't."

"See?" Allison cried. "That would have been the strong thing—"

"Allison—"

"She was a coward and I hate that you can't see that! She was _wrong_ , Dad!"

"Enough!" he roared.

Allison ran up the stairs and slammed her door with a resounding crash. Chris leaned against the doorframe to the study, breathing hard.

***

There was arguing going on in the Hale hideout. Great; it fit his mood. It didn't come as a surprise that the arguing heralded the first time Scott and Derek had been there together since the night of the pizzas. And for once, the arguing was about something productive.

 _"Are you out of your damn mind?"_ No mistaking that snarl for anyone but Derek Hale.

 _"He threatened Allison, too!"_ Scott had to be talking about Gerard. Chris sat up straighter.

 _"Allison, that delicate flower who shot up two of your fellow wolves and strung them up in her basement?"_ Chris winced. _"You still persist in your little daydream that the Argents are the nicest?"_

 _"What are you talking about?!"_ Oh, shit.

 _"Um."_ Stiles. Of course. He'd been down there, too, just more Gerard Argent collateral damage.

_"Stiles, what's he mean?"_

_"Shit."_

_"Oh, man, oh, man, it's true? Oh my God."_ Chris shifted in his seat. He was starting to miss the scintillating sounds of Isaac typing his English essay. _"How do you know? Stiles?"_

 _"Damn it, Derek, why'd you have to say anything?"_ Stiles sounded pissed, and Chris wondered when he'd missed the little heart-to-heart between Derek and Stiles, the I-was-beat-up-by-an-Argent-Club. Hell, Chris could join that himself. Hunter training was not exactly painless.

_"Why'd I—you're the one always accusing me of not telling you shit! Well, here's info you could use – don't trust the Argents. It's not exactly rocket science!"_

_"Uh, guys?"_ A fourth voice interrupted them, Isaac, but the other three were busy talking over each other. It was impossible to pick out more than a few words at a time. Then Isaac whistled, and Chris thought his ear drums were going to burst. It must have been one hundred times more painful for the werewolves in the room with him.

 _"Sorry."_ Isaac continued in his normal tone. _"But instead of arguing about what the Argents have done in the past, maybe we want to focus on what Gerard Argent is doing now?"_

There was a beat of silence, before what sounded like Derek sighing.

_"Tomorrow morning, 8:00 AM. We'll split up and go in either entrance, do a thorough search."_

Either entrance of **what**?

 _"There are three ways in."_ Stiles. _"Lydia –"_ He started to say right at the same time Scott started to say Allison's name.

 _"No."_ Derek interrupted them both. Another tense silence descended on them before Derek broke it again. _"Stiles, if Lydia and Jackson want to help us, fine. But Lydia comes with me and Jackson goes with Scott, and you go with Isaac."_

 _"Fine. But I'm going with Scott if they don't come."_ Ouch. It looked like Derek had managed to mess up the tender friendship vibe he and Stiles had hesitantly formed over the past few weeks, and was back to being Derek the unwanted. He didn't have to worry; Chris was going to follow him.

Chris waited another hour, but the boys dispersed soon after that, all three leaving Derek alone to his thoughts, Stiles and Scott arguing softly as they got in the jeep and drove away, Isaac in the backseat. No one mentioned where they were searching or why. Chris hated to assume that one of them had seen something important, but it was all he had to go on at the moment. He risked driving by the parlor itself on his way back. He could see Derek inside through one of the broken windows in the front. Hale was sitting on the floor, knees up and back hunched. It looked like he was staring at his empty La-Z-Boy.

Chris poked his head into Allison's room when he got home. She was sitting cross-legged on her bed, her laptop in her lap and several open books and printouts spread out on her quilt.

"How's it coming along?" he asked. There were pictures of piles of old, dirty shoes on her left, and what looked like pictures of her classmates' clad feet on her right. Maybe he didn't want to know.

She shrugged. So still mad about their earlier conversation, good to know. He should let it go but damn if he wasn't tired of giving in to another Argent.

"I just don't want you to hate your mother, Allison, can't you understand that?" he asked.

"I get it, Dad," she answered, voice frosty. No, she really didn't.

"You don't have to agree with her decision," he tried once more. "But she was strong—"

"Jesus, Dad!"

"Language!"

"Being strong doesn't make you _right_!" Her hands clutched at the pictures of the old shoes and belatedly he figured out what they meant. They were pictures of the shoes collected at Auschwitz for her Modern History project. Oh, fuck. He held up his hands.

"You're right. I'm sorry, we'll drop this. Don't stay up too late working on that, okay?"

He had his hand on the door knob before she spoke again.

"I love you," she whispered.

"I love you, too, baby doll."

***

He dreamed that night, for the first time since Kate died. At first they were just flashes, images and scenes that had nothing to do with him. Victoria asked him once, after awakening from a vivid dream of teaching Allison to track big game, to share his dreams with her. All he could tell her was the color blue. There was no story to his dreams, not like with Victoria's.

His dreams started the same as they always did, on the rare occasions he dreamed at all, when suddenly a curtain was pulled back and he stumbled onto a stage. The lights were bright in his eyes and he could not see, nor could he lift his hands to block the glare. He was holding a knife and it was too heavy, but he couldn't drop it.

"Word of advice, big brother," Kate said, sashaying out of the wings and stopping in center stage. "You'll catch more flies with honey than with a stick." She laughed, low and wicked. "I used the honey. He liked that."

Chris's blood went cold. "Kate," he said, reaching for her, but he still couldn't put down the knife. It was dripping with blood. Had it always been like that?

"Ask him," she whispered. "Ask him how much he liked it. I was a good teacher, Chris. You see it, don't you? He grew up in all the right ways, and now there's a new him."

Chris looked back down at the knife. It was easier than looking at Kate, listening to her. He'd never had to follow her orders before; she'd still been a child when he married Victoria. It should be easy to ignore her now.

"Here he comes, Chris," she said, gleeful.

And Derek Hale entered stage left.

He was on fire. His skin crackled and burned, the smell sickening. It would be a kindness if Chris were to stick his knife into Derek's heart.¬ Even his eyes smoldered, rage and grief slowly obscuring in the smoke from his burning body.

"I should kill you," Chris told him, hefting the knife. It was lighter now.

"Typical Argent response," Derek muttered, his voice hoarse.

"You killed my sister and my wife!" Chris snarled.

"If you're going to kill me, you damn well better do it for something you actually believe I did," Derek said.

The fire grew hotter, Kate laughed and Chris dropped the knife.

He woke up gasping, and reached beneath his pillow for the comforting weight of a gun. He stumbled into his bathroom and splashed cold water on his face. When he looked up at the mirror, he was wearing Derek Hale's burning face.

He blinked his eyes slowly open, waking up in his bed. His hands went to his face, slowly, deliberately. They still twitched before he touched his skin, wanting to hold the gun instead. He ignored the urge and traced his profile. His subconscious was clearly out of practice with dreaming. The parallels and symbolism were all mixed up and completely worthless. He breathed in once, twice, then got out of bed.

The light was still on beneath Allison's door, the lower murmur of her voice on the phone grounding him, reminding him that she, at least, was real and present. Allison ended her call, to Lydia it sounded like, and the light switched off.

Chris stood there for a good ten minutes before going back to bed.

***

Chris waited down the road from the Stilinski house at 7:00 AM the next morning, sipping coffee from his thermos and trying to shake off the unsettled feeling his dream had left him. He snuck out of the house before Allison came out of her room, leaving the rest of the pot of coffee as an apology. The Sheriff's cruiser wasn't in the driveway and Stiles came out the front door, not bothering to hide what he was doing. He still had a lot to learn. Chris tailed him to Scott's house, where the werewolves also used the front door, seen off by Melissa McCall. Huh. He wondered how much she knew about her son's extracurricular activities. It was a worry for another day.

Stiles drove to the end of the road and took a left, heading away from the center of town. Chris followed as far back as he dared, hoping the werewolves were too distracted to notice him. Stiles parked outside the sewage treatment plant on the outskirts of town; Chris parked two blocks over. Well, at least the smell should help mask Chris's scent, plus he was currently downwind. He grimaced and pulled a bandana out of the glove compartment and tied it around his face. The shotgun loaded with wolfsbane and a handgun, flare gun and several throwing knives did little to detract from his overall bank robber image.

The wind helped carry voices back to him.

"I still think we should wait for Derek," Stiles argued.

"What has gotten into you lately?" Scott protested. "This is Derek we're talking about!"

"And our odds would be better with him! Look, I know you two don't exactly see eye-to-eye—"

"Understatement!"

"—but we have no idea what Gerard is capable of right now! We need more of us, even if it's just a Red Shirt."

"Thanks for that ringing endorsement, Stiles."

Chris had to grin in spite of himself as Derek used the wind to his own advantage and snuck up on the three teenagers. It didn't bode well for any interaction they might have with Gerard, though. Chris shifted in his crouch behind a pile of empty flats. From this distance, he couldn't see their faces, but Stiles looked redder and Scott was jutting his chin out belligerently. 

When the Michigan Argents got here, the wolves would fall like a house of cards. The thought didn't make him particularly happy.

"Does your lady love count as a Red Shirt, too?" Derek asked, and then Chris could hear what the others had probably already picked up on: Jackson Whittemore's Porsche.

"Lydia?" Stiles sounded incredulous. Clearly she hadn't told him she was going on this little adventure. Chris was more concerned by the fact that he had missed it. Derek must have gone to her house late last night and made a personal plea. It… didn't really fit. He must have strong-armed Jackson, and Lydia came along.

"Holy shit!" Jackson exclaimed, slamming his door. "What the fuck is that smell?"

"Sewage," Lydia answered tartly. Chris squinted at her. She was wearing a stylist's idea of a practical camping outfit. Her hair was even up in braids pinned in a wreath around her head. She looked ready to pose next to a tent, smiling coyly. She opened up Jackson's ridiculously small trunk and pulled out two backpacks and what looked like a stick. Jackson leaned down to kiss her forehead when she handed him one of the packs, even as he shied away from the stick. Mountain ash, it had to be. Chris was duly impressed.

"Listen up," Derek said, and Chris settled down to do so, even as Derek's rag-tag troops shifted on their feet and exchanged looks. "The sheriff's department has received several complaints from plant workers about an intruder, and Stiles saw a black trail in some of the pictures his dad's deputies took of this place. Gerard is here." Chris's heart beat faster. Finally. _Finally_ some concrete evidence! "There are three ways into this place. Stiles and Isaac will take this one. Jackson, you and Scott drive around out back and for God's sake, hide your damn car. Lydia and I will take the side entrance. Howl if you find something. Don't get hurt."

"Awesome pep talk, fearless leader," Stiles said. It was hard to tell tone due to the wind, but he didn't sound sarcastic for once. Derek just grunted and walked away. Stiles turned to Lydia. "Nice stick."

"Don't even pretend you don't have some on you, Stilinski," she said, and surprised them all by leaning forward and brushing her lips over Stiles's cheek. "Don't get yourself killed. Now if you'll excuse me, I have to go break in my new rubber boots."

The boys all watched her hurry away after Derek, Stiles absently touching his cheek.

"Hands off my woman, Stilinski," Jackson said, thrusting his finger in Stiles's face. Chris rolled his eyes. Jackson's posturing, though understandable, was irritating and reminded Chris too much of all of his friends from high school. Hell, he'd probably been like that, too. Scary thought.

"Leave him alone," Scott said, swatting Jackson's hand down and turning to address Stiles and Isaac. "You guys be careful, okay? Anything goes wrong…"

"What could possibly go wrong?" Stiles asked.

Isaac laughed and tugged at the padlock holding the gates to the treatment plant closed, his muscles flexing. Jackson got into the Porsche and started to drive away. Scott swore and chased after him. Chris made himself very small in his hiding spot. Scott was too distracted and angry to catch a whiff of his scent as he kept pace with Jackson's car and rounded the corner. Chris looked back to the entrance. Stiles and Isaac were already slipping inside. He'd wanted to follow Derek, but he didn't know where the side entrance was and Derek and Lydia were already out of sight. Besides, Isaac was a new werewolf. It would be easier to follow him undetected.

Unfortunately, following Stiles and Isaac left a good portion of his brain free to really think about what they were planning to do, something he'd tried hard not to do. Now that they were finally on Gerard's trail, the fact that he was going to have to confront his father – not the monster who had threatened Allison, but his _father_ \-- deeply unnerved him. This was the man who'd put his arms around young Chris and taught him how to hold a baseball bat, a fishing pole, a gun. The man who'd nodded in approval the night he met Victoria, who'd loaned Chris the money for an engagement ring, who'd taken him to a bar and told him stories about his mother (ten years gone by that point) the day before Chris's wedding. The man who'd held baby Kate in his arms, and then baby Allison; the man who'd sat Chris down and told him what it was like being a father. Chris hadn't had a chance to mourn that man, too busy keeping his anger up as a buffer and distracting himself with the antics of Derek Hale. Now the moment was upon him and all he felt was numb.

"The look on Jackson's face when she kissed you, dude," Isaac said. It sounded like he was trying to stand in for Scott.

"A very sisterly kiss, but Jackson didn't get anything," Stiles agreed. They were a little too close. Chris needed to let the distance grow a bit more or risk discovery. He needed to pay attention and not think about Gerard.

"So do you think Derek divided us up so Jackson and Lydia wouldn't be distracted with each other?" Isaac asked.

It was actually a good division, in Chris's opinion. Scott and Jackson hated each other, but worked well as teammates. Isolating Scott from Stiles and Isaac would help Derek, and no way was he going to send the two humans off without werewolf protection. As to why Derek picked Lydia instead of Stiles…

"Yeah. He thinks Gerard will be heading for the side entrance, too, so he chose that way. We should probably hurry."

Chris's eyebrows rose. He surmised Derek would go the way he thought was most dangerous, too, but he hadn't expected Stiles to pick up on it. He should have known better; Stiles had shown surprising insight before.

"What, really?" Their feet scuffed against the rough stone of the walkway into the treatment center, making it easier for Chris to follow undetected. "Why'd he take Lydia with him?"

"Did you see the size of her stick?" Stiles snorted.

That could have been it, and spoke to Derek communicating with her under the radar before this meet-up. Chris had a sneaking suspicion, though, that it wasn't the whole story. Of all the pack members and quasi-pack members working their way through Gerard's lair, Jackson and Lydia were the only ones Derek hadn't gone out of his way to protect in the past. And out of the two of them, Lydia was the one who hadn't been susceptible to Gerard.

He really wished he'd been able to follow Derek and Lydia instead of Stiles and Isaac.

"Stiles!" Isaac exclaimed suddenly. "I heard – we have to hurry _right now_!"

Chris echoed Stiles's swear and took off after the boys. They rounded a corner, and even Chris could hear it – howls and snarls and an angry shriek that had to belong to Lydia. Isaac was running slower so Stiles could keep up with him, and all three of them burst out onto a balcony overlooking the main floor of the plant.

"The fuck – Mr. Argent?!" Stiles gasped, but Chris ignored him. Isaac didn't even spare him a glance, simply vaulted over the railing and landed on all fours below to join in the fight.

Gerard was huge, at least eight feet tall now, and wide. Nothing about him looked human; he looked like the monster from a cartoon Allison had watched incessantly one summer when she was a kid – _Fern Gully_. He was just toying with Derek and Lydia as he tried to advance on Scott, in a crouch against the far wall, clutching his sides like he'd already been hurt and it was healing.

"Shit!" Stiles swore again, as he also realized Argent's target. Chris continued to ignore him and knelt on the metal walkway, taking careful aim with his shotgun. His mind went completely blank as he focused and fired. His aim was true, but the wolfsbane bullet had little effect on Gerard, causing just the merest stumble. Jackson roared, leaping forward to take advantage of the perceived weakness, but Gerard flicked him away and Jackson fell into one of the pools of sewage awaiting treatment that littered the floor.

"Jackson!" Lydia cried, rushing forward and whacking at Gerard's… feet would not be an entirely accurate description. Gerard's foot and shin area, if Gerard had been human and not a black ooze that looked like a cross between an oil spill and a Nazgul. The mountain ash had a much more pronounced impact than the wolfsbane bullet, and Gerard reared back, stopping for a moment in his advance on Scott to turn on Lydia, but Derek was already there. 

The werewolf and creature grappled for a moment while Chris took aim again. He was aware of Stiles leaving his side and running down the walkway to the metal staircase that would lead him to the floor and the fight, and in the opposite direction, Isaac reached Scott and crouched beside him. Chris fired, a headshot that caused Gerard to howl, much like a wolf, and push Derek aside. Derek went tumbling into Lydia, which did not bode well for anyone lacking in alpha strength. They needed to regroup. Gerard was already advancing on Scott again, growling, and then Chris heard a sound that made his heart plummet to his feet – the twang of a bow.

 _Allison_.

She emerged out of the side entrance tunnel, the way Derek and Lydia must have come, and fired again. Gerard looked up, annoyed, and for the first time noticed Chris on the balcony. His beady little eyes went from Allison to Chris to Scott.

"No," Chris whispered. "Father—"

He heard Allison scream as the balcony came down around his ears, pulled down by Gerard's massive strength, and then the world went dark.

***

"Hey. He's waking up."

Chris blinked his eyes, his vision swimming. The voice was familiar. _Isaac_. The room came into focus, two faces looking down at him – Isaac and Melissa McCall. He blinked again, touching on other details – framed photos of Scott on the walls, Derek and Stiles in one corner with their heads together over an iPad, Lydia Martin tousling Jackson Whittemore's hair dry.

"Allison," Chris croaked. His mouth tasted like old socks.

"Here," Scott said, coming into the room from what must have been the kitchen, carrying a glass. "Drink this."

"Allison," Chris said insistently, and tried to push the glass away. Damn werewolf muscles.

"The only way you can help your daughter is by taking care of yourself right now," Melissa said firmly, taking him by the shoulders and helping him sit up, but stopping him from standing with a nod to Isaac. Chris remembered then why they didn't get along well. Stubborn woman, and of course she would side with Scott.

"Drink the water and take your pills, Mr. Argent," Lydia said coming over to loom over him with her hands on her hips. "And then we'll talk."

Chris conceded with a show of good grace. It wouldn't do to rile them up too much. He was unbound in the home of a werewolf, with four werewolves and three human sympathizers, and none of the exits were blocked, though Derek at least could reach him before he took a step. Tension was thick in the air. Scott dragged over a chair, a soft grunt escaping his lips. Ah. He was still injured from whatever Gerard had done to him. Judging by the ripped shirt, he'd been scratched. And now that _thing_ had Allison.

_Calm. Rational. Prudent._

"Where the hell is my daughter?"

Or not.

"Maybe you should have thought about that before dragging her into your fight," Derek said.

"Okay, let's just—" Melissa started.

"I didn't _drag_ her; she must have followed me," Chris snarled back, and even in the midst of his anger and worry, he felt a burst of pride. She'd followed him and he'd had no idea; moreover, she'd gone through the entrance with the best bet of finding Gerard.

"Hmmm, following. An Argent family trait!" Stiles leaned into Derek's side, perhaps subconsciously. "I don't believe in coincidences. You followed us to the Bog of Eternal Stench. How'd you know we'd be there, huh?"

They were all staring at him now, even Jackson, the towel draped around his neck. It was so stupid to waste their time like this. He'd been out for at least an hour, if they'd managed to get back to the cars and over to the McCall's and Jackson had fit in a shower. Who knew how fast Gerard could move?

"That's really not important right now."

"Bullshit," Stiles snapped. Chris's hands clenched. He needed a new tactic, someone to be his ally.

"Melissa. You're a mother. You know that my top priority has to be Allison."

"We all want to save Allison," Melissa said soothingly, at the same time Scott said, "We're going to get her back!"

"Great, let's go!" Easier said than done, as Isaac still had a hand on his shoulder.

"How did you find us?" Derek asked, his voice deceptively soft. Chris wasn't fooled.

"I'm a Hunter. You're werewolves. It's going to take both sides to bring down Gerard," Chris deflected. 

"How did you find us?" Derek asked again. Chris sighed.

"I just told you. I'm a Hunter. You're a werewolf. I needed…" Chris gritted his teeth. He had no time for pride, not with Allison missing. "I needed your help to find Gerard."

"Oh I get it." Stiles nodded seriously. "Asking is so last season."

"Shut up, kid." Chris's head was pounding, and his chance was slipping away. Derek watched him with narrowed eyes.

"You found where I – the pack – is staying," Derek said, staring at him.

"Abandoned pizza parlor on edge of town," Chris acknowledged.

Scott sucked in his breath. It was the first sound he'd made during their little interrogation.

"Was Allison helping you?" he asked. He looked like shit, sounded broken, but he had healed, at least superficially.

"She didn't know, I don't know why – you!" he snarled, remembering, staring at Lydia. "You talked to her last night!"

Lydia lifted her chin. "So what if we did? I refuse to take blame for Gerard's actions. There's enough martyrs in the room already," she finished, her voice dropping to a mutter.

"Anyhow," Stiles cut in. "Back to how you found us – if you've got some James Bond/Q spyware going on, now's the time to share. We could use some of that shit."

Chris sighed. "It's pretty low-tech. I don't have cameras up all over Beacon Hills, if that's what you're asking. That was always more Victoria's realm. I just had a bug and my car."

Stiles flushed, following the implication of a bug. Chris smirked at him. Derek frowned at the two of them, his eyes narrowed.

"You're getting rid of it," Derek said coldly. "We'll deal with you when we get back from killing Gerard. Stay here."

"Not a chance, Hale," Chris said firmly.

"You'll slow us down with your head injury, you're too emotionally involved, you bring nothing to the table, and, oh yeah, I don't trust you," Derek listed off. "We only dragged your ass out of the sewer to stop Scott from whining. You're staying here."

His father had always maintained that one trained Hunter was worth two werewolves. Well, Derek had three with him, plus the three humans, and Chris was injured. If he tried, Derek could prevent him from going with them. Chris would need to… use honey. He shivered, recalling his dream. The stick it was.

"You're going to take me to find my daughter," he said quietly, "or I'm going to have a very pointed discussion with Sheriff Stilinski about where his son spends his free time. And with whom."

Stiles's flush deepened and his mouth dropped open, but Derek beat him to the punch. "If you want to implicate yourself in an armed gang that terrorizes citizens in his jurisdiction, be my guest."

"Who said anything about werewolves and hunters?" He hated the next words that had to come out of his mouth. They weren't true, and the accusation was beyond damning. But Allison. Allison was on the line, and nothing else mattered. "He'd care about his underage son spending the night with you."

Someone gasped, but he couldn't tell who. He was focused entirely on Derek, frozen in place.

"That's not what it is, and you know it!" Stiles cried. "If you've been bugging the place like a fucking creep, you _know_ we don't… we're not like that. We're friends! Chums! Mates, like from Australia! G'day mate, and all that."

"Friends?" Chris snorted. He was being an asshole, but Derek was the asshole not sharing Allison's location. He didn't look at Stiles, still addressed Derek. "Your only friend is a sixteen year old boy who begs you to touch him."

Derek's face went pale. "Get out."

Chris went for the jugular instead. "You're a fucking hypocrite, Hale! You think this little game you're playing with him is any different than what Kate did to you?"

"Get the fuck out of my face before I rip your throat out!"

The werewolf's red eyes caught the light in the room, his canines glistened, and Chris should really get the hell out of there, but werewolves weren't the only ones with packs. They weren't the only ones who could feel love and loyalty enough to make them crazy and reckless and absolutely fearless.

"Gerard has my daughter, and you know where he is! _Work with me!_ " Chris demanded. Everyone started speaking at once. The noise was deafening, protestations and accusations flying until—

"Shut up!" Scott roared. The room went quiet. "None of this is helping. _I'm_ barely healing from Gerard and now he has Allison. Look, Mr. Argent, if you want to help, say something that's actually helpful. Picking on Stiles is not helping, you know that." 

Chris took a deep breath. He was saved by the ringing of his phone. He looked down at it out of habit, not planning to answer it, but Jed's too-wide smile grinned up at him. _Jed_.

"Tell me you have something that could kill Gerard," he greeted his cousin, his heart pounding. It felt like the entire room leaned closer to him, holding its collective breath.

"How are you, Jed?" Jed asked in a sing-song voice. "Real swell, Chris, thanks for showing some common courtesy—"

"I don't have time to play your stupid games," Chris cut him off, fighting against a note of hysteria. He was unflappable Chris Fucking Argent, but he had to keep reminding himself of the fact. "Did you talk to your witch or not?"

He was aware of the others exchanging glances at that, but he ignored them. Jed was babbling on the phone, protesting any involvement with witches.

"Spit it out, Jed," Chris growled.

"Mountain ash."

"Mountain ash is what got us into this fucking mess in the first place," Chris bit out.

Scott stared at him, his face pinched. Chris turned his back and paced to the window.

"No, I mean you use mountain ash, but it has to be wielded by the creature that made him inhuman, and it has to go into his blood. And then you set him on fire."

Chris counted to five quietly in his head. "So." He prided himself at how calm his voice sounded. "I have to convince Derek Hale to pick up some mountain ash, a thing he can't touch, ram it into my father, and then set him on fire."

"Poetic irony, is that the term you're looking for?" Jed asked.

Chris hung up on him. One look at the others showed that they had all heard, even the humans.

"We could make a spear with a different, uh, shaft," Stiles said, breaking the silence.

Chris shook his head at the same time as Derek.

"Everything has to burn. Purity in the weapon cancels the corruption in the creature," Derek said. Chris raised his eyebrows. Just when he thought he had Derek cataloged and defined, the werewolf showed another layer.

"But you can't touch the mountain ash!" Stiles protested.

"I can handle it for long enough."

"Derek—"

"If we want to get rid of Gerard, I can deal with a few blisters," Derek said in a tone that brooked no nonsense. Stiles, of course, ignored it.

"How do we even know this information is accurate, huh?" He turned on Chris. "What's your source? Did you just make this shit up to hurt Derek? Why should we trust you?"

Chris ground his teeth together. "Don't you think I want to get my daughter back? I have no reason to lie to you, kid!"

"Think of it as a system of checks and balances, Stiles," Lydia broke in. "Derek created Gerard with mountain ash, Derek can reign him in the same way. It fits with the logic, if you can call it that, that you see in the Beastiary."

Chris almost swallowed his tongue. "The Beastiary?" he asked, rounding on her.

Lydia gave him an innocent smile, dimples cutting deep. "As fascinating as I'm sure it must have been to eavesdrop on all of the boys' little club meetings, perhaps you might have spared some thought as to what your daughter was doing."

Chris stared at her. He paid attention to Allison! She'd been the one to say she wanted to take a step back from the Hunter lifestyle. And she had, but in the past few days, she'd been… more curious. Damn it. He could tell there were frissons in the Hale pack but he couldn't see the ones in his own family.

"Okay, so that's settled. You guys stay here, and Derek, Mr. Argent and I will go get Allison," Scott said, demonstrating a complete inability to read a room. For every step forward, the kid took a corresponding step back. Stiles, Melissa, Isaac and Lydia practically jumped down his throat, though Jackson looked content enough to stay behind.

"It was _my_ iPad you used to find him this time, McCall!" Lydia snapped.

"If Allison's hurt, you're going to need me," Melissa argued.

"No way, you're still wounded and Derek's being sent in like a lamb to the slaughter!" Stiles protested.

"You're not going alone," Isaac said firmly. Lydia elbowed Jackson in the ribs.

"Ouch!" he said, rubbing his ribs. "Uh, yeah, I want to help."

Which was how Chris found himself in the backseat of the jeep five minutes later. Instead of Kate, it was Melissa beside him, with Stiles at the wheel and Scott riding shotgun. Jackson and Lydia led the way in Jackson's Porsche, Lydia directing him along the backroads out of town, using the GPS on her iPad to track a signal from Allison's phone. Derek and Isaac brought up the rear in the Camaro.

"Are you okay?" Melissa asked him, her low voice pitched to his ears. Stiles was muttering to himself in the front seat, had been ever since they got in the car, but even with that cover, Chris was sure Scott could hear. It didn't really matter.

"Would you be, in my place?" he answered. Melissa just watched him, her eyes hooded. He wondered what kind of relationship she had with her father. But then, Gerard was no longer his father. The term didn't apply. And as for Allison… "When we get there, you'll hang back."

Melissa's hands tightened on her first aid kit. She didn't say anything.

Brake lights flashed in front of them, and then Jackson was pulling to the side of the road. Stiles followed, the Camaro pulling up behind them. Chris surveyed the terrain as they all got out and grouped together. They were in the wooded hills on the outskirts of the Preserve. Not Hale territory, but close. There were some caves, back in the woods here.

"They're underground," Lydia announced, clutching her precious technology to her chest. "Half a mile in on foot."

"Let me have the stick," Chris said to her. "I'll carry it until Derek needs to use it."

Stiles wordlessly took the stick. Lydia rolled her eyes, but led the way into the woods, Stiles and Jackson flanking her.

"Yeah, you shouldn't have eavesdropped on him," Scott told him, slapping him on the back and taking off after the other three, Isaac falling in beside him. Which left Chris bringing up the rear with Melissa and Derek.

"How long?" Derek asked stiffly.

There wasn't much point in lying. "Since you got the La-Z-Boy."

"I could rip out your throat right now," Derek said conversationally. He could, Chris didn't doubt it, especially now that they knew how to kill Gerard.

"You know something, Derek," Chris said. "I don't think that's your style. And I would know."

Derek scowled at him. Melissa reached over and laid a placating hand on Derek's arm.

"Gentlemen," she said. "Let's leave the posturing behind, shall we?"

Chris shrugged. "I didn't mean it as an insult. I don't like you, Hale. But your bark is worse than your bite."

"I'm the only one allowed to make the dog jokes," Stiles said.

Chris looked up, chagrined. He needed to get his head in the game; he'd had no idea they'd caught up with the others already.

"It's single file through here," Lydia said, ignoring them.

Derek pushed his way forward, Stiles dogging his heels. Chris reached out and grabbed Stiles's arm. "Don't you think a little strategic thinking is in order here?"

Stiles shrugged him off. "You heard Lydia. Single file. It's not like there are a ton of ways to get in here."

Chris grit his teeth in frustration. They were charging in like they were still wet behind the ears, kids out on their first hunt. His father would laugh at them. At him.

"I should go first and distract him. Give you time to sneak in," Chris tried.

"I appreciate your expert opinion," Lydia interrupted. "But you weren't there when Derek and I found him at the plant. He heard us coming the whole time. He knows we're here right now. There _is_ no element of surprise. All we have is the secret weapon. Speaking of…" She elbowed Jackson in the ribs. He shot her a disgruntled look, but slipped his backpack off his shoulders. "We'll use these to set him on fire once Derek has done his thing," Lydia continued, rummaging through the pack and pulling out several sparklers. "Does everyone have a lighter?"

It turned out only Lydia and Isaac had lighters, other than Chris. A lighter was an essential tool for a Hunter. He'd feel smug about it but holding the thing in his hand made him a bit sick to his stomach. If all went well, his father (not his father, not his father, not his father) would die in a few minutes, thanks to this lighter. Lydia gave hers to Jackson.

"Okay, men!" she said, slapping her hands together. "Go in there and kill the beast! I've done my part; time for you to pull your weight."

"Be careful," Melissa said solemnly. She and Isaac exchanged a look, her eyes darting to Scott and Stiles before focusing back on Isaac. Scott didn't notice, but Isaac nodded, squaring his shoulders. It was almost endearing. Chris wasn't sure which of them Gerard wanted to see dead more: Derek, Scott or Chris himself. At least the kid would have someone to look out for him.

"Time to go," Derek announced. Stiles scrambled to follow after him, Chris right behind, and the others jostled and pushed to line up behind him.

Each step he took led him closer and closer to Allison, he told himself. Also to patricide, if there'd been any of Gerard left. But there wasn't. There _wasn't_. It was just a monster in the woods, holding his daughter.

The path abruptly opened up into a cave, and Chris's heart plummeted.

Gerard filled the space. There was no sign of Allison, just Gerard and some big rocks.

"Scatter!" Chris barked, grabbing Stiles by the waist and flinging them both to the side. A small boulder hit the rock wall where Stiles's head had been and smashed into dozens of little pieces.

"Fuck!" Stiles gasped out.

Another rock sailed through the air. Lydia shrieked, but Chris couldn't spare a glance in her direction for when Gerard moved, Chris could catch a glimpse of Allison behind him.

"Come on!" Chris tugged Stiles to his feet. 

Gerard roared and hefted a huge boulder over his head, aiming for Derek. He was able to dance out of the way for the most part, but Gerard's next rock took him in the knee and he fell to the ground.

"I need to get to Derek!" Stiles yelled over the sound of another rock breaking. One of the betas howled, Isaac maybe. Stiles darted forward, brandishing the mountain ash. Gerard ignored him, intent on finishing off Derek. Chris didn't hesitate, slipping behind the monster to get to Allison.

She raised her head at his approach, her eyes glassy and a bruise already forming on her forehead. Chris felt fury burn through his veins, but he gentled his expression as he helped her up.

"Come on, sweetheart," he murmured. "We're leaving now."

"Dad?" she mumbled. She had to lean heavily on his arm, her ankle twisted at an unnatural angle. "What's going on?"

They were losing, that was what was going on. Jackson was crumpled on the floor by the cave entrance, Lydia crouched over him, clutching the lighter and a sparkler. Isaac and Scott were throwing themselves at Gerard, wolfed out and clawing at his legs to no avail. And Derek was… smoking. His hands burned where they gripped the mountain ash. His face was contorted into an awful snarl as he ran forward, only for Gerard to bat him down. The stick went flying and Gerard gave a triumphant roar, raising a huge fist to bash Derek's head in.

"Gerard!" Chris yelled. He had no last words for his father, not that anything would affect him now. The distraction worked, though. Stiles ran forward, a small bag in his hands, and helped Derek up even as Gerard advanced on Chris and Allison. Chris pushed Allison behind him and she stumbled, clinging to his shirt. Gerard roared again, raised his fist – and froze.

Chris smelled burning flesh and the horrible stench of the sewer. Behind Gerard, he could see Stiles pulling Derek away, mountain ash particles dropping from their hands, trailing from a gash in Gerard.

"Now!" Chris yelled. "Lydia, Isaac!"

Two sparklers flew through the air. His own unlit sparkler weighed heavy in his pocket. He could light it, but then he'd have to let Allison go. The sparklers flared, catching in the black folds of who Gerard was now, lighting him up and smelling distinctly of burning ozone. Gerard whimpered, a pitiful mewl, and Allison shuddered against Chris.

"You don't have to look," he told her, tearing his eyes away from the spectacle of his dying father to gaze tenderly at his daughter's face. He never saw the pure black tentacle lash out, Gerard's final legacy, whipping through the air to Allison's neck in the briefest of touches.

"Dad!" she gurgled, falling to her knees. Blood gushed from her neck. Scott was there in less than a second, his human hands clamping over the wound, brown eyes wide with shock. Chris stared. There was too much blood. It was too much. He had lost too much, he couldn't lose Allison. She was trying to speak to him and drowning in her blood.

"No," he said quietly. "Allison. You can't speak, sweetheart. Shhh."

Sharp rocks cut into his knees. He'd fallen beside her. A woman was trying to talk to him; he knew her, he just didn't care to hear her medical opinion. He knew the medical opinion. Someone was crying, and the boy trying to hold his daughter's life inside her pleaded, "Derek."

Chris was slammed abruptly back into himself. Derek. The bite. A dreadful hope latched onto his soul.

"Derek," he said. Everyone else grew quiet, the only sounds Allison's labored breathing and the crackling fire of Gerard's death throes.

"No," Derek said, just one harsh syllable.

"Please—"

"No!"

"We don't have time to debate this!" Scott was in full-on hysterics, his shirt soaked with blood and tears streaming down his face.

"It would be better for her to let her go!" Derek burst out. "A Hunter can't be one of us! And I don't want her."

"You're lying," Chris said quietly. "Allison would give you Scott. You'd have a unified pack."

"I'd have another beta who hated me," Derek gritted out. "And you of all people should know that the bite shouldn't be used as a cure-all."

"I am fully aware of my family's history." Chris kept his voice steady and calm, despite the overwhelming urge to scream. This would make him an outcast with that same family. This was irrevocable. This was the very height of hypocrisy. This was Allison's life. "And I'm still begging you to help us."

Derek stared at him, bruises fading across his face.

"Allison," Stiles said, dropping down next to Scott. "Do you want to be a werewolf? Do you want to take the risk? You might look pretty ugly with sideburns."

Allison's lips parted in the semblance of a smile. "I don't want to leave," she whispered. Her eyes closed briefly. "I'll stop hating you."

Derek looked down at her for a long moment, time they didn't have. Chris held his breath. Now was the time for him to shut up, but it was so difficult. And then Derek slowly lowered himself to the ground. Chris seized Allison's hand, squeezing it tight in his. Derek raised her other arm, fangs closing around the smooth skin of her forearm, and bit down hard.

Allison cried out, and lived.

***

"I brought guacamole, and salsa, and Reese's," Stiles said, opening the door. "Oh. Mr. Argent. You're joining us?"

"Don't worry, Stiles." He let his lips peel back in a predatory grin. "I brought chips."

Stiles's mouth did a funny little twist before settling into a slight smile. "Well, the guac and salsa would be a bit of a mess without them."

He stepped aside, and Chris followed Allison into Derek's latest secret lair. She stopped to kiss Stiles's cheek on the way past.

"Kisses, my favorite!" Stiles exclaimed. "Feel free to refrain," he added, taking the chips out of Chris's hands.

"No worries there, kid," Chris said, looking around. This place was better than the pizza parlor, definitely. The huge hole in the wall could use some work, but it had electricity and running water. A vast improvement.

Allison was already greeting her fellow werewolves. She'd always been free with affection before, a trait that had grown stronger since the bite. It still wasn't easy for Chris to watch her envelope Scott in a hug, then Isaac and Jackson. She stopped when she got to Derek.

It was… a learning process, dealing with Derek Hale now. It was almost easier for Allison to put aside her previous feelings of hate and blame now that she was effectively tied to him. She could sense things about Derek she hadn't known before. They'd had a talk about Victoria that Chris hadn't been privy to. It rubbed him the wrong way, but he could handle it. He had to. Especially since in all other aspects, Chris was quietly surprised by how Derek was treating them.

The first horrible night, when they'd all smelled like burning skin and hair and whatever the hell Gerard had been, Derek stayed by Allison's bedside. Chris sat on the other side, obsessively watching her wounds as they slowly healed, listening to her breathing as it grew stronger. He wished, painfully, that Victoria was beside him, but she never would have been flexible enough to deal with the situation, he could see that now. Derek took Allison's hand when tears leaked from her closed eyelids. It should have been Victoria, but would her other hand have grasped a wolfsbane dagger? If she couldn't stay for them as a wolf, could he have trusted her with Allison as she was now? Scott stirred at the foot of the bed. Chris could imagine Victoria's eyes, taking in his current company, her back turning on him. He took a deep breath and let it out slowly, letting her go. She had made her decision, and he had made his. 

That was a week ago. The full moon was in a few days and Allison needed to prep. _Chris_ needed to prep. A lifetime of hunting werewolves had taught him what to expect, but this was his daughter. He still woke up at odd hours of the night to rush into her room and make sure she wasn't bleeding out anymore.

"What did I miss?" Lydia asked, coming into the room and interrupting Chris's reverie. Stiles helped her out of her coat and threw it onto the bed in the corner. An actual bed, Derek was really stepping up his game.

"Werewolf mating ritual," Stiles said.

"What?" Chris did a double take.

"No, Mr. – Chris. They're just saying hi, sheesh."

He knew that. He was the werewolf expert. Watching Allison bare her throat to a man Chris had hunted on numerous occasions skewed his perspective, was all.

"You don't need to completely flip out, you know," Stiles said. "Scott's really good at helping new wolves, and Derek's already fucked this up before and got it totally out of his system."

"Thanks for that, asswipe," Derek said drily, joining the humans.

" _Asswipe_?"

Allison sat on the floor in a loose circle with the other werewolves, her body leaning unconsciously into Scott's. Probably unconsciously. Chris was just going to have to deal with that, too. Scott began to speak about meditative practices and anchors, Isaac nodding along, Jackson looking bored. Allison listened intently, calm and composed.

"Come on," Lydia said, touching his arm. "Strategy session at the table."

Derek and Stiles joined them, bickering softly about eighties movies and what constituted a good insult. They sat too close together on one side of the table. Stiles met Chris's eyes and flushed, but didn't move away.

"All right," Lydia said crisply. "As I see it, we need plans for the full moon as an immediate necessity, and plans for whatever insanity your family is going to pull as a long-term strategy. So." She looked at Chris expectantly. "What are the Argents going to do?"

Chris gave her a level look. He was absurdly glad that Lydia was there. She'd have made a fearsome Hunter and a great leader, no doubt about it. But that part of his life was over. Instead, he had Allison's pack and Derek Hale for an Alpha. His best option to keep Allison safe was to make Derek the greatest Alpha he could be.

"Ros is sending a group of Hunters to take care of the werewolf problem in Beacon Hills," he said. "We can try subterfuge, force or negotiation."

They talked for hours and ate through the entire bag of Reese's peanut butter cups. No one tried to kill each other, though there were a couple of close brushes. All in all, for a first pack meeting, it could've gone a lot worse.

Chris and Allison drove home together afterwards.

"We did the right thing," Allison said after a few minutes of silence. "And… I know not everyone would have made this choice. A lot of Argents wouldn't have. But I think you…"

Her voice trailed off and she twisted her hands together in her lap.

"You can tell me anything, Allison," Chris said softly.

"I can smell and hear things now!" she burst out. "Like Lydia used Jackson's toothpaste this morning, and Derek likes Stiles a whole lot more than he's ever let on, and you, Dad – that was the first time your heart rate was steady since this happened."

Chris raised his eyebrows. He'd already gathered the Lydia and Jackson, Derek and Stiles dynamics, but that last one was interesting. "And what does that tell you?"

"That we did the right thing," Allison said again. "That we're going to make this work."

Chris stopped at a red light. He'd always been a Hunter. It wasn't a thing he did. It was an identity thing. But his identity had been in constant flux over the past year, changing from brother, husband, son to widower and orphan. If he stayed a Hunter, he'd no longer be a father. It was no contest. This wasn't something he could play one side against the other; he'd thrown his lot in with Derek and his werewolves and there was no going back. He'd do it one hundred times over to keep his daughter.

"Of course we did the right thing," he said.

The light turned green.

**Author's Note:**

> Okay, WARNING: someone does get turned into a werewolf in this story.


End file.
